


We're Waking Up Slow

by myrmidryad



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Communication, Huddling For Warmth, Love Confessions, M/M, Snowed In, Tenderness, basically 12k of these two talking shit out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 15:07:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20229850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: “I think need a little time to process all of this. Um. Storm’s getting closer and I don’t really wanna get snowed in here, so…let’s just talk later, okay?”What if the storm that blew in during S01E10 came in a lot faster and heavier, and Alex was snowed in at the junkyard?





	We're Waking Up Slow

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the Cosmic Love Exchange on tumblr, a gift for [tempest-nova](https://tempest-nova.tumblr.com/). I hope you like it!
> 
> Title from [Waking Up Slow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTSdJEGswtg) by Gabrielle Aplin (and thanks to [Tasyfa](https://tasyfa.tumblr.com) for introducing me to that song through the playlist for your [Spinning Circle of Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1361569) series).

“I think need a little time to process all of this. Um. Storm’s getting closer and I don’t really wanna get snowed in here, so…let’s just talk later, okay?”

Alex climbed carefully up the ladder and had to stretch up to undo the hatch. It had swung down hard when Michael had opened it before, and Alex didn’t want it to hit him when he opened it. He was expecting it to come down fast – he wasn’t expecting a huge lump of snow to fall down and immediately drench him. His breath shocked out of him in a gasp that was closer to a shout, and fear of losing his grip and falling made his hand lock tightly around the ladder, the one that had been stretched up to undo the hatch yanked against his chest instinctively. 

“Alex?”

Alex huddled against the ladder for a second, trying to get his breath back. Michael appeared underneath him, eyes wide. “Shit, Alex, are you okay?”

“Fine.” He was starting to shiver, and the snow was still coming down heavily through the now open entrance, settling in thick, heavy clumps in his wet hair and on his shoulders and arms. “I’m fine, it just surprised me.” He made himself start climbing again, and heard Michael follow him.

His heart sank when he poked his head out. The storm had been building above them when they’d gone underground, but it must have broken the second they’d gone down. The clouds were so low and heavy overhead that the horizon seemed to have shrunk. The snow was falling thick and fast, and the wind was up as well, so everything was obscured. Alex could only just see the roof of the sheltered area where Michael worked, and the gleam of the junk gazebo’s wet metal. The sign for Sanders’ Auto was barely visible behind the blur of snow.

He had to climb up the rest of the way and sink his hands into snow that was already up to his wrists to push himself over the edge of the hole. He was properly shivering now, the wind cutting right through his soaked jacket and shirt, and wetness seeped in over the edge of his boot when he stood up, feeling frighteningly wobbly on his feet.

He’d never walked in snow with his prosthetic leg. He shifted his weight carefully, reaching out to steady himself on the outside of the Airstream just in case he did slip. It was different to anything else he’d walked on. Having a metal foot meant he couldn’t feel immediately if he was standing on uneven ground, or if it was slippery, or how exactly it was shifting under him if it was. Snow compressed under his right leg in a distant way he couldn’t properly measure, and he clenched and unclenched his residual limb in its socket, telling himself that at least if he did fall, it would be a relatively soft landing, and he was already soaked.

Michael hauled himself out with a grunt, and the hatch pulled itself up behind him. “Shit,” he muttered, looking around. “That came in quick.”

“Yeah.”

Michael turned to look at him and frowned. “You should come inside. We’re miles outside town, you can’t drive back in this.”

He was right and wrong. Alex shouldn’t drive back, he knew that, but he was pretty sure he could. It would just be dangerous if he did. He hated driving in snow as it was, and heavy, blinding snow like this was the worst sort. It was so slippery and wet, and it was sticking so fast. Sliding off the road or getting stuck were very real possibilities, and if that happened he would have to try walking it, and doing that with a prosthetic leg and absolutely no winter gear would be sheer idiocy. 

“Alex.” 

The snow was settling in Michael’s hair, and the asshole didn’t even seem to notice. He was looking at Alex with a serious, almost wary expression that Alex caved to after only a second. It didn’t help that he was absolutely freezing already, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth chattering, his hands raw and painful from the snow. “Fine,” he said, and dread mingled with anticipation in his stomach as Michael sighed in obvious relief and beckoned him forward so he could move the Airstream back over the hatch.

Walking on snow was horrible. Even worse than sand. Alex knew it was mostly because he’d just never done it before, but he still stayed close to the Airstream and inched forward slowly, eyes on the ground in front of him as if it would help, as if he could see anything useful. They couldn’t have been down in the bunker for much more than half an hour, but the snow was already several inches deep. Michael waited patiently for him to move closer, and matched his slow pace as they stepped away from the trailer.

Alex didn’t want to look at him. He should have anticipated the storm, he should have checked the weather reports this morning instead of going off yesterday’s information. He should have made Michael leave the bunker hatch open so they would have seen when it started to snow. He should have worn a better jacket, and waterproof boots. 

The Airstream creaked into place over the bunker, and Michael stayed within grabbing distance as they walked to the door. Michael yanked it open and went in first, and Alex knocked the snow off his boots as best he could, glad to step up onto the metal stair, out of the snow and into the trailer.

“Siddown,” Michael muttered, pulling clothes off the armchair and gesturing to it. Alex lowered himself into it, the feeling in his stomach churning into definite dread now. He’d wanted to leave to get some breathing space, to process everything Michael had shown him. And now they were snowed in for who knew how long. There was a treacherous little part of him that liked the idea too, and he shoved it down harshly.

He was losing the battle against his chattering teeth. The trailer was sheltered, and it was definitely warmer inside than out, but that didn’t help with Alex’s soaked clothes. He watched Michael shove things out of the way on his table, dump the clothes he’d taken off the chair onto his bed, and grab a towel out of his closet.

“Here.” He threw it at Alex, who barely leaned back in time for it to fall into his lap rather than hitting him in the face. His hands, when he curled them into the towel and dragged it up to rub through his hair, were red from the cold. “You should get those clothes off,” Michael added. 

And oh, the things Alex could say to that. At least any flush in his cheeks could be attributed to the chill. “You got anything I can wear?” he asked. It wasn’t like Michael was wrong, after all, and Alex wasn’t stupid enough to sit in freezing, wet clothes for the sake of his pride.

“Sure, hang on.” Michael looked back in his closet and frowned. “Uh…okay. This good?” He pulled out a long-sleeved dark blue top, and Alex nodded, peeling off his jacket with a wince.

“Thanks.”

Michael came a step closer to actually hand it to him, and Alex took it without meeting his eyes, putting it on his knee as he undid the buttons on his shirt with numb fingers. It took twice as long as it should’ve, but Michael was there to take it from him when he was done, along with his jacket. “I’ll hang ‘em up in the tub,” he muttered, turning away, and Alex rubbed himself dry with the towel and pulled the blue top over his damp hair.

It smelled of Michael.

“Your jeans wet too?” Michael asked, his back to him, and Alex sighed.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“I got track pants you can borrow if you want?”

“Thanks.” Alex draped the towel around his shoulders and bent down to roll up the leg of his jeans. It’d be easier to take them off without the prosthesis in the way, and it wasn’t anything Michael hadn’t seen before, at least.

Michael passed him a folded pair of pants, then grabbed his hat off the table and went outside again. Alex sped up his movements, yanking the prosthesis off and shoving his jeans down his hips, holding his liner up as best he could to keep it on. He’d just gotten the track pants on when Michael came back in, and Alex kept his head down and watched out of the corner of his eye as Michael knocked snow off his boots and hat before closing the door. The wind had gotten even stronger, and Michael made a face as he shucked off his jacket. “Getting worse out there.”

“I could tell.”

Michael came close to fiddle with something above Alex’s head, then backed off again. “Heating’s on,” he muttered. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Here.” Alex pulled the towel from his shoulders and handed it back to Michael. “Your hair’s still wet.”

“Thanks.”

So fucking polite. Alex didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know what to do with how comfortable and soft the clothes Michael had given him were either. He didn’t know what to do about his bare foot, and the way he was still trying not to shiver.

Michael did though. Michael kicked off his boots and dragged a ragged bathmat from his closet and dropped it onto the floor, wiping it around with his foot. He pulled a small white blanket from his bed and threw it gently at Alex, who caught it with fumbling fingers. He dipped into his closet again and emerged with a pair of thick orange socks, which he leaned forward to give to Alex without looking at him.

“Thank you,” Alex said quietly, and Michael nodded.

“You want some coffee or something?”

Alex nodded, pulling the blanket around his shoulders and putting one of the socks on his foot. He bent down to take the boot off his prosthesis and put it to the side before pulling up the right leg of the track pants and pushing his stump back into the socket. The sock on his prosthetic foot was damp too, so he took it off and replaced it with the other orange one Michael had given him, mostly because he thought the plastic foot looked disturbingly weird if it was uncovered.

“Heating should kick in soon,” Michael said, hunched over the sink. Alex watched in silence as Michael washed out his coffee pot. Did Michael do this every morning, he wondered. His movements were practiced and efficient. Washing the pot, drying it, filling the bottom with water and setting it on the stovetop. He reached up to one of the overhead lockers without even looking and pulled down a bag of coffee, tipping some into the funnel and then putting it back.

Alex stared at the way Michael’s white shirt creased when he reached his arm up. He dragged his eyes down the line of Michael’s back, the rumples in the knees of his jeans, the faint stains and frayed hems that spoke of years of use. His hair was still a little damp, the curls springy at the back. Alex knew exactly how they would feel crushed against his fingers, and managed to make himself look away for half a second.

It didn’t last. He was usually so cautious and on edge, but there was no way anyone would be coming out to the junkyard in this weather. No one would be able to come and get either of them, and nothing short of a life-threatening emergency would be worth either of them trying to leave.

Michael checked the water, judged it hot enough, and dropped the funnel in gently, screwing the top on and settling back on the stool on the other side of the table to wait. “Getting warmer?” he asked after a minute, looking over at Alex with hooded eyes.

Alex nodded, forcing himself not to do something like swallow or pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll get outta here soon as it stops snowing,” he added compulsively.

Michael smirked, humourless. “Never thought otherwise, don’t worry. Might be a while though,” he warned. “Doesn’t sound like it’s letting up any time soon.”

“Yeah.” Alex glanced at the door and sighed. “Great.”

“Always in such a hurry to run away,” Michael snorted, and Alex glared at him.

“That’s not what I was doing.”

“Right.” Michael gave him such a knowing, almost disdainful look that Alex’s skin itched. “Sure.”

“You just told me you want to leave Earth,” Alex snapped. “Excuse me for needing a second to take that in.”

“Because this planet’s always been so kind to me.” Michael shook his head and leaned back on his stool, one arm resting on the table, the other across his thighs. “You’re right, why wouldn’t I want to stay here for the rest of my miserable life? What’s not to love?”

A drop of water ran from Alex’s hair down his neck, and he clenched his muscles to stop himself shivering. “What about Max and Isobel?” he said.

Michael’s ire subsided. He held Alex’s gaze for a second before looking down. “They don’t know, remember?”

“They don’t?”

“I told you.” Michael looked up again. “I’ve never shown anyone else. I had to show Liz the bunker, but…no one’s ever seen the console.”

Well shit. Alex suppressed another shiver, and gave into the urge to pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I didn’t realise you meant Max and Isobel as well.”

“Yeah, well.” Michael rubbed his good hand along his thigh. Alex waited for him to elaborate, and frowned when he didn’t.

“Why haven’t you ever told them?”

“They’re happy here, y’know?” Michael shrugged, and looked up as the coffee started to bubble. “They’ve got lives. Isobel has a husband who loves her, they both have good jobs.” He got up to take the coffee off the heat and sat down again with a sigh and a casual shrug. “They wouldn’t miss me if I left.”

“You wouldn’t want to take them with you?”

“I don’t know if they’d want to come.” Michael gave him an awful smile. “But I’m used to going it alone.”

Alex didn’t know why the hell he was pulling this dagger further into himself, but it was like he couldn’t help it. “You hate it here so much?”

Michael didn’t answer. He got up to get a couple of mugs out instead, shoving a couple of bottles out of the way to make room for them on the tiny counter. “I don’t have any milk or creamer or anything,” he said. “That okay?”

“It’s fine.” Alex had to bite back the urge to press the question. He could see Michael’s point, that was the thing. Earth had never been kind to him – why wouldn’t he want to escape it? Even if Alex had just told him he wanted to start over, Michael’s stated desire to leave was a clear rejection. Too little, too late. And now he was trapped in Michael’s trailer with him, the pain of that knowledge getting worse by the minute. 

Michael handed him his coffee when it was done, and sat back down on his stool. Alex wanted to pull his legs up onto the chair, curl up small and hide. He needed time to go through everything Michael had just told him, he needed time to clear his head, and all he could think of with Michael sitting so close was how cold he was, and how warm Michael would be.

The bed was right there. Alex could stand, could put his coffee down and step between Michael’s legs. Could slide his hands into Michael’s hair and duck down to kiss him, and Michael would reach up to pull him into his lap, he’d hold Alex close and push his hands under the shirt Alex was wearing. He’d be so warm. 

“You seriously just wanna sit here in silence?” Michael interrupted his train of thought, and Alex blinked down at his coffee, hands stinging from the heat of the mug. “I thought you’d have more questions.”

“You want me to interrogate you?” Alex gave him a flat look, and Michael just shrugged.

“Passes the time.”

Alex gripped the mug harder, ignoring the pain of the heat. “Okay. Okay, do you even know where you’re going? And how to get there?”

Michael tipped his head back and put his coffee down on the table. “I know a bit. How much do you know about quantum mechanics?”

Alex couldn’t believe he’d thought his question would tip Michael off balance for even a second. “Not much,” he said.

“Not much as in you don’t know anything, or not much as in you at least know about M-theory and loop quantum gravity?”

Alex sighed. “I know a little bit about quantum computing in terms of how it can be applied to cryptography and codebreaking. Space travel’s never been part of my remit.” 

“So…”

“Not much as in nothing, basically.”

“Okay.” Michael squinted. “Well, put real simple, space travel is insanely difficult the way humans do it. However they ended up here, my…the aliens must have come from outside our solar system, possibly even from outside the galaxy, and that means a method of travel humans haven’t discovered yet.”

“Warp drive?” Alex said, only half joking.

Michael shrugged. “Maybe. I think it’s more likely they know how to manipulate spacetime in some way. The problem with quantum mechanics as it stands now is that there’s no way to reconcile it with general relativity, right?”

Oh God. “Okay?” Alex knew he was smart, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d said space travel wasn’t his area of expertise. His speciality was math and code, not physics. He hadn’t picked up a physics book since high school, probably.

Michael licked his lower lip and narrowed his eyes, possibly realising that Alex was completely out of his depth. “Alright…uh…okay, even just putting aside stuff like radiation and travel supplies and oxygen, the problem isn’t just space as in distance, okay? You’ve also got the problem of how much energy it’d take to cross those distances, and you’ve got the really serious problem of time.”

“Time. Like…” Alex was going to regret it, but he had to try and put it in a context he’d understand. “Like Interstellar?”

“Kinda. Not really. A bit, actually.” Michael brightened. “Okay, so you know in the movie where they go down to the planet with the huge waves?”

“Yeah.”

“And when they get back, it’s been years and years?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. That’s what I mean when I say time is a serious problem. Time passes faster the less gravity there is. It’s faster up on a mountain than at sea level, and it’s way, way faster up beyond our atmosphere. This ship, or the console at least, it’s incredibly sophisticated.” Michael gestured with his hands, serious and enthusiastic at the same time. “It’s the sort of thing humans couldn’t dream of creating any time soon, right? Progress occurs only through experimentation, and this level of technology means that these aliens were good at space travel. They really knew their stuff, and it was obviously considered safe enough to have children on board.”

Alex had forgotten about that for a second, and he nodded. “So you think space travel was normal for them. Like flying on planes for us.”

“That’s my theory.” Michael shifted on his stool, leaning forward a little. “So I think there must be some way they’re manipulating spacetime to bypass or at least minimise the effect gravity has on time. I’ve got theories,” he added. “Especially concerning the electromagnetic field and how thermodynamics fits into it, and the…it’s kinda complicated,” he said, slowing down apologetically. “But, uh. The point is, I think I could do it. Not any time soon, and, well, I don’t even have all the pieces of the console, but…” 

He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, reaching for his coffee again. “I gotta try, right? I’ve been waiting my whole life for them to come to me. I know the best thing to do when you’re lost is stay put, but I’m done waiting. I’m sick of it.” He met Alex’s eyes for a second. “I got no guarantee they’re even looking,” he went on, quieter. “But the last time I thought I might have a shot at a life here things didn’t go so great, so. Might as well keep my eyes on the stars, y’know?”

Something was aching in Alex’s chest. His hands had gone numb from the heat of the coffee, but he felt frozen in place, unable to lift it to his lips. “When?” he heard himself ask.

“Hm?” Michael took a gulp of his own coffee, eyes closing for a moment.

“When did you…when was the last time you thought…?”

Michael lowered his mug and met his eyes. Alex had always had a bad habit of pressing at his own bruises, replaying horrible moments over and over in his head, pushing himself just that little bit further than he should. Self-flagellation was something he was well practiced at, and he knew this was just another method of hurting himself, but he couldn’t help it.

In the end, Michael didn’t even speak. He just lifted his wrecked left hand, and let Alex draw his own conclusions.

Shame burned in the pit of his stomach, and Alex looked down at his coffee again. There were a lot of things he’d never said to Michael; confessions he’d never made, whole speeches he’d outlined in his head and muttered pieces of to himself when he was alone. It always flew out of his head the moment he was face to face with the man himself, or got muddled, or mired in hesitations. 

An apology was nothing, in the face of what had happened. Empty words, spoken years too late.

Alex was sick of being too late.

He opened his mouth, but Michael, of course, beat him to it. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Alex jerked his head up and stared at him, but Michael just shrugged and took another gulp of his coffee. “What?”

“It’s fine. Water under the bridge, right?”

Alex felt almost as if he’d been punched in the stomach, or had another heap of snow dumped over his head. Winded, breathless. “Fine?” he managed to say. 

“Yeah.” Michael looked a little uncomfortable now. “I mean, sure, it sucked, but –”

“It’s not _fine._”

“Alex…”

“Jesus, Guerin.” Alex had to put the coffee mug down on the floor, to the side of his legs where he wouldn’t kick it by accident. He had to put it down so he could rub both hands over his face, curling forward with his elbows on his knees, so sick of himself and so frustrated that he was here at all, trapped in a trailer in a damn snowstorm with no room to breathe. 

“Alex?”

“It’s not fine,” Alex muttered again, into his hands. He swallowed and made himself look over at Michael. “What my dad did to you…” He had to take a breath, get his voice under control. “It’s not fine,” he repeated. “It was never _fine._ I should’ve…I should’ve done something, I should’ve protected you.”

“Protected me?” Alex hated how baffled Michael sounded, hated it with every fibre of his being.

“Yes,” he snapped. “God, Guerin, I don’t get how you don’t hate me. It was my fault, I’m the one who brought you there, I told you that shed was safe!”

“You think I blame you?” Michael’s whole body reared back, his face a mask of disbelief.

“You should!”

Michael shook his head, staring at him for a moment before he gave an odd sort of half-laugh and turned away. Alex just watched, still cold, that ache in his chest getting worse. Michael looked back at him, the smallest self-deprecating smile at the corner of his lips. “I’d do it all again,” he said, and after a long pause, added, “It was worth it.”

Alex still remembered his scream of pain, and the crunch of bone under the hammer’s impact, and he couldn’t stop himself flinching. “Guerin…”

Michael just shrugged, and tapped one fingernail against the rim of his mug. “Don’t forget your coffee.”

Alex genuinely considered how far he would be able to get in his car for a moment. If he took it at a crawl back into town, or hell, even if he just sat in the cab with the heat on, that would be preferable to this. To Michael giving him yet another piece of his soul, another secret, like it was nothing. Like he didn’t care how much Alex might hurt him, as long as Alex was the one doing it. 

But he was stuck here, and he found himself picking his coffee up again and drinking it in silence. If anything, it just made him colder, but he refused to shiver, keeping himself tensed up to prevent it as much as he could.

The coffee was bitter, and Alex closed his eyes on the memory of Michael’s screams. An afternoon of happiness, that’s all they’d had. A few hours. It had been the best few hours of Alex’s life, but he hadn’t truly expected that Michael felt the same way, certainly not to the degree that he considered his hand being smashed with a hammer to have been an acceptable payoff.

Michael pulled his phone out of his pocket, ignoring Alex, and the quiet was like a balm on his frantic mind. Time and space to process, that was what he’d been looking for when he’d rushed to leave the bunker earlier, and here it was. 

Space flight was difficult, but Michael thought he could crack it. He wanted to leave the planet, but he would do the tool shed the same way all over again, taking all the pain if it meant he would get that first time with Alex. And the way he looked at Alex hadn’t changed, not one bit, and his gaze was still sticky, lingering on Alex when all Alex could do was look away, always hiding and checking for threats. 

The idea that Michael could ever be satisfied with him was ludicrous, when Alex was so inconsistent. But he would do the tool shed the same way if he had the chance. How else was Alex meant to take that? And even if Michael did think he could figure out how to leave Earth, the way he’d talked about the logistics of it made it sound like a far-off possibility, not something he could do any time soon. And he hadn’t even told Max and Isobel about what he was doing.

Alex’s pride had allowed him to accept Michael’s clothes and the shelter of his trailer in the storm, but it wouldn’t quite allow him to choke out questions about whether Michael would stay, if Alex could be better for him. It would come out as begging, and Alex couldn’t bring himself to do that, not even for Michael. But there were other ways he could gauge Michael’s position, he was sure of it.

Michael sighed loudly just as Alex finished his coffee, dropping his phone onto the table. “Storm’s set to carry on like this through till about noon tomorrow. Sorry, man. You’re stuck here.” He didn’t sound exactly thrilled about it either, and Alex rubbed his forehead with one hand.

“This really wasn’t the first date I had in mind,” he muttered.

“…come again?”

“When I said we should start over,” Alex said, “I was thinking something slower. Not huge alien secrets and going over old trauma.” When he lifted his head, Michael was staring at him as though he’d grown an extra head. “What?”

“What did you have in mind?” Michael asked slowly, like he was trying to figure something out.

“I don’t know. Coffee, maybe. A movie without my dad hanging around and getting into my head.” Alex pushed a hand through his hair, grimacing at how wet it still was. “I don’t even know what kind of dates you’d like. Does it even matter if you want to leave the planet?”

“It matters.” Michael was still staring at him like he’d spoken in tongues. “You’d wanna go out with me? In public?”

“What part of starting over was unclear to you?” Alex asked, frowning.

Michael gaped at him. “I don’t know, what part of ‘ends with a whimper’ was supposed to leave me thinking you _weren’t_ done with me?”

The idea of being _done_ with Michael like he was something temporary sent a stab of pain through Alex’s heart. The Airstream creaked around them, the wind blowing even stronger, flurries of snow pattering with deceptive softness against the windows. “I didn’t…” He had meant it, and Alex bit off what would have been a lie. “I was trying to keep my distance.”

“What for?” Michael shook his head, confusion and scorn mingling like he didn’t believe a word Alex was saying, like they were just excuses.

Maybe they were just excuses.

Alex sighed and put his empty mug down on the sanded wood floor. He couldn’t feel his toes, even with the sock, but he ignored it. “I wanted you to be safe.”

“Safe?” Michael laughed, a short, unpleasant thing. “Alex, I’ve never been safe.”

“Safer, then.”

“From what? Your dad’s been gone for weeks, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“And there’s no way he was working alone.” Alex leaned back in the chair, trying to look as controlled as he could while wrapped in a blanket. “He was actively trying to recruit Kyle, and he did recruit Jenna. I don’t know how many other people in this town are in his pocket, and you, Max, and Isobel were all marked as threats in his files.”

“I don’t see how you telling me we’re through protects me,” Michael said in a hard voice. 

Alex hated not having an exit. He cast another desperate, fleeting thought to his car and the possibility of just hiding in it until the storm blew over. Michael was watching him, waiting for an answer, and Alex had so many to give that he couldn’t give any at all. “When Cam told us there was a killer in Roswell,” he said slowly, measuring each word so they wouldn’t come out halting, “the only suspects we had were you three.” He’d told Michael about the fourteen murders along with everything else, figuring it wasn’t fair to ask Michael to be honest with him if he wasn’t honest in return.

“You think one of us is a murderer?” Michael asked sharply, and Alex shook his head, looking down at his hands.

“I don’t think any of you are, and neither does Kyle. Cam doesn’t know you like we do, but Kyle and I grew up with you, all of you.”

Michael’s lip curled. “An endorsement from Valenti isn’t exactly something I’d want on my resumé.” 

“He’s the one who defended you,” Alex said dryly. “And he’s the one who told me I should talk to you.”

“Seriously?” Michael frowned and shifted in his seat, pulling one foot up onto the railing that ran around the bottom of the stool. “Wait,” he went still, eyes widening for a second in anger. “_Kyle_ knows about us?”

Alex took a deep breath and let it out. “He guessed you were the reason I was so heavy-handed in shutting down Project Shepherd.” He watched Michael absorb that, the anger bleeding into confusion, Michael’s chin jerking like he wanted to shake his head but couldn’t quite manage the movement. “I wanted you safe,” Alex said quietly. “That’s all.”

“And now?” Michael always cut straight to the heart of the issue. “Lotta past tense you’ve used today, Alex. Spell it out for me.”

Alex curled his numb toes against the floor and held back another shiver. “I want to get to know you, Guerin, I told you.”

“And take me out for coffee?” Michael frowned, but he didn’t sound like he was poking fun or being sceptical. 

“Yeah.”

“Like…exclusively?”

Alex stared at him. This was the man who had just struggled to explain the problems of quantum physics to him because he knew so much about it, and now he seemed to be having difficulty with the most basic of statements. “No,” Alex said, because out of sheer disbelief, he fell back on sarcasm. “I’m thinking you could be one of a string of boyfriends and I date you all for kicks. You know how hot the gay scene is in this town, I figured it’d be easy enough to give up the whole Air Force thing and just be a gigolo instead.”

Michael’s face creased as he laughed in surprise, tried to say something, and gave up to laugh again, shaking his head. “Okay, look, don’t…just humour me for a second, okay?”

“Okay?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

Michael tilted his head, hesitation creeping back into the corners of his eyes, the lines on his forehead. “You really meant it, before? You really wanna…what, do this together? Like an actual relationship where people know about us? Even though I’m a criminal and I live in a trailer and I’m an alien?”

“I like your trailer,” Alex said stupidly, and rolled his eyes at himself. “That’s not…honestly, Guerin? The fact that you’re an alien is less important to me than any plans you’ve got to leave the planet.” And all its wayward citizens, including himself.

Michael looked him up and down with an unreadable expression on his face, and Alex tucked his hands under the edges of the blanket as Michael got to his feet and leaned down to pick Alex’s empty mug up and put it in the sink. He looked down at Alex and sucked the corner of his lower lip into his mouth for a second. “You still look cold.”

Alex didn’t reply. He looked up at Michael and waited, and relief settled painfully in his heart as Michael moved closer, closer, shrinking the space between them in shuffling increments until he was near enough that Alex could slip one hand out and touch the fabric of his jeans, just above his knee. His fingertips skidded along denim worn soft with age and use and curled into it, urging Michael closer.

Michael looked down at him with his lips parted, like he still wasn’t sure, and Alex hated it. Michael had never been hesitant with him in the past, and nothing could have been a surer way of showing how deep Alex had cut him. He moved his other hand and put it on Michael’s other leg, fingers flexing against the backs of his thighs, and when Michael stepped close enough that his shins were almost brushing Alex’s knees, Alex closed his eyes.

He could feel how warm Michael was through his jeans, and he let his head fall forward slowly, slow enough that Michael could have easily stepped away or stopped him. He didn’t, and Alex’s forehead came to rest against his stomach. The angle hid his face, and Michael’s stomach was soft and warm through the thick material of his shirt, his breathing slow and even.

Something brushed Alex’s hair, and he squeezed his eyes shut harder at the aching realisation that it was Michael’s fingers, so gentle that for a moment he hardly felt them. “Hair’s still wet,” Michael murmured, and Alex breathed out against his stomach, eyes still closed. Fingers either side of his head pushed through his hair with more confidence, and Alex almost wanted to cry. 

“It was a lot of snow,” he croaked instead, and shivered as one of Michael’s hands – the right one – cupped the back of his head, the other still threading gently through his hair. 

Desperate, muddled words that made no sense pushed at his throat. _I missed you,_ and _you make me feel so,_ and _let me,_ and _stay, please stay,_ and _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me, please forgive me._

He breathed out and moved his arms, wrapping one around the backs of Michael’s legs and bending the other at the elbow, pushing his fingers through the belt loop at Michael’s hip. Michael shifted, and Alex kept his body intentionally soft as he let Michael slip through his fingers. Not away though – down, onto his knees. The armchair was high, and Michael was shorter than him now, his hands still in Alex’s hair, the heel of his left palm against Alex’s cheek.

Alex’s eyes had opened to watch him, but they closed again when Michael nudged his legs apart and shuffled forwards. Alex moved his hands again, settling one on the side of Michael’s neck, the other on his shoulder, trying his best not to cling, trying to match Michael’s gentleness.

Michael was going to kiss him, Alex could feel it, and he didn’t want to know how or when it was going to happen. For once, he didn’t want to see it coming. He wanted to trust, and let the feeling of safety settle into his bones.

The dark sky and heavy snow blocked the light from the papered-over windows, casting the interior in shadows, so the darkness behind Alex’s eyes was complete. Michael’s hands were so careful, and Alex’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as he felt heat on his face, a barely-there breath of air against his chin. His skin felt feverish wherever Michael touched him, frozen and goose-pimpled everywhere else. 

The heat against Alex’s face grew, and his breath stuttered as Michael’s nose brushed his, there and gone again. Desire flared in the pit of his stomach as Michael’s left hand slid forwards slowly, thumb drawing a warm line against his jaw, almost to his lips. It stopped short though, and Michael dragged his hand down instead, flat for a moment against Alex’s shoulder before it slipped under the edge of the blanket and kept going down, down, shoulder to chest to stomach, then away for a second, and then pushing slowly under the hem of the shirt Alex was wearing.

Keeping his eyes closed was getting harder, but Alex kept it up even as his grip on Michael’s neck and shoulder tightened, pleading. He could be patient. He could let Michael set the pace.

They were breathing the same air, and Alex’s chest hitched as Michael’s nose brushed his again, agonisingly close, and a second later Michael’s hand pressed hot and firm against the soft skin of Alex’s stomach and he sucked in a sharp, wanting breath. His reward was Michael’s lips ghosting against his, a single spark of contact that was pure tease, setting fire to the heat kindling in Alex’s core. He was breathing faster, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly with the effort of keeping his eyes closed, and when Michael’s nose slid against his again, lips so close Alex could almost, almost feel them, he knew Michael could feel the way his stomach jumped.

The anticipation and the waiting made the moment Michael finally kissed him so good that Alex found himself melting into it before conscious thought could even get started on slowing him down, glorious heat spreading out from all the points of contact between them. Michael kissed him slowly, slowly, drawing it out and making Alex list forward into him, sucking on Alex’s lower lip and sliding the hand on the back of his head down to cup his cheek, holding him so tenderly that Alex didn’t know what to do with himself.

Alex had always driven it forward in the past, the familiar undercurrent of urgency spurring him on, making him a little frantic, a little frightened. Always in a hurry to take as much as he could in the little time he had, always aware of the world beyond them just a step away, ready to intrude and disturb and attack if he let his guard down too much.

But they were safe here. No one would be fighting their way through a storm to find them, no one needed them, no one wanted them. Alex could let go, for once. He could let Michael kiss him into weakness, kiss him and kiss him until Alex’s fingers were trembling, twisted helplessly in the thick white shirt Michael was wearing, desperate and still too aware of his own fears.

Michael’s hand roamed against Alex’s stomach and chest and sides, sliding round to his back to press against the arch of his spine, broken, crooked fingers scorching against Alex’s chilled skin. And Alex managed to get a hand into Michael’s hair and didn’t pull, just slid his fingers against the heat of Michael’s scalp and leaned into him a little more, the balance of his body tipping further and further forward until Michael had to break away and press their foreheads together, his breathing so loud in the space between them that it drowned out everything else.

“Alex,” he whispered, and laughed when Alex shivered again, a full-body shudder that almost knocked their foreheads together. He reached back and peeled Alex’s hand off his head, twining their fingers together before bringing both hands to his mouth and pressing his lips to Alex’s thumb. “You’re freezing still.”

“It was a lot of snow,” Alex said again, chest tight and heart racing.

Michael tilted his head back towards the bed. “You wanna…?”

“Yeah. Yes.” _Please,_ Alex almost said, and just as Michael shifted to stand up, he pushed it out of his mouth. “Please.”

The stunned look on Michael’s face might have been hot if it hadn’t made shame curl through Alex’s stomach instead. “You really are cold, huh?” Michael recovered quickly, standing up and helping Alex onto his feet as well, his hand slipping out from where it had been pressed against Alex’s ribs to tug the blanket into place as it was dislodged. “Don’t say it was a lot of snow again,” he warned, half a smile playing at his lips. “Or I’ll have to do something drastic.”

“Like what?” Alex asked, letting Michael guide him the three steps over to the bed so he could sit on the edge of it. Michael snorted and leaned past him, gathering up the clothes he’d dumped on it to put them back on the armchair, straightening the pillows, shoving the sheets back so Alex wasn’t sitting on them.

“I don’t know, try and make you a hot chocolate or something.”

Alex had been expecting a threat, something jokey like ‘or I’ll shove you outside into the real cold’. He found himself smiling, shaking his head. “You expect me to believe you’ve got anything here you could make hot chocolate with?”

“Yeah, well, that’s why _try_ would be the key word there.” Michael turned away to open his closet again, and Alex looked down to busy himself with taking off his prosthesis. It was easier in track pants than jeans to roll up the leg and free the catches on the socket. He pulled it off as Michael dragged another blanket out and dropped it onto the bed next to him. It was a sort of quilt, Alex realised as he glanced at it, bright blue with a floral pattern. Very much not Michael’s style, and his lips twitched.

“Nice.”

“It’s warm.” Michael shrugged and went back to the other end of the trailer, switching on the light above the sink as he went. It gave Alex the space he needed to pull his prosthesis off and place it in front of the closet, the few inches of floor there a perfect fit. Everything in the Airstream was within reach, so easy to navigate that Alex could get up from the bed and be in the bathroom in one hop. It was easy even with one leg, because he could hold onto the half-wall between the bed and the shower and steady himself on the bathroom counter, and swing between them like it was nothing. If he lost his balance, there was always a wall or surface to catch himself on before he could fall.

Alex pulled off his stump socks and the liner and turned it inside out, and tied the empty part of the track pants’ right leg in a knot under his stump. He was about to drape his liner over the socket of his prosthesis when Michael came back and held out a hand for it. Alex hesitated for a second, but gave it to him, and watched in bemusement as Michael took it to the kitchen sink. He bit his lip to stop an instinctive protest as Michael filled it with water and rinsed it out – he was going to be here long enough for it to dry, after all, and they both knew it. Michael pumped a couple of squirts of soap into it and rinsed it out again, and then a third time.

Water was precious in a trailer. Alex knew Michael didn’t have a connection to anything but a black pipe here, so clean water was something he rationed. It wasn’t stupid to feel so touched by Michael using so much water for him. He even turned the liner inside out and brought a bottle of wine out of one of the cupboards under the kitchen unit to stand it on.

“I keep it for Isobel, when she visits,” Michael explained when he saw Alex watching. As if the thing Alex was fixating on was the presence of wine in Michael’s home. He unbuckled his belt, and Alex shrugged the blanket off of his shoulders and pushed himself further back on the bed. He didn’t expect Michael to leave his boxers on, chucking his jeans onto the armchair without looking and kneeling on the bed to nudge Alex into lying down. 

Heat jumped in Alex’s stomach, but Michael didn’t follow him down. He snapped the sheets straight over Alex first, then spread the blanket on top of him, and the quilt over that. Alex had no idea what was going on when Michael slid under them all with him and just…plastered himself against Alex’s side. “Okay?” he muttered.

“I…” Alex swallowed, tensing against another shiver. “Yeah.”

Michael pressed their legs together, and his bare foot brushed Alex’s ankle where the track pants had ridden up. “Jesus, you’re like ice!”

“It’s fine, I’ve been cold before.” But he was freezing again, like the furnace of Michael in bed next to him had reminded his own body how much colder he was in comparison, and it was getting harder not to show it.

Michael grunted and curled himself up into half-sitting so he could pull his shirt off. But when Alex reached out for him, he turned away, rolling over to present his back to Alex. Before Alex could feel any hurt through the confusion, he reached back to grab Alex’s hand and pulled it over his side. “C’mon,” he muttered. “I’m warmer.”

Alex figured out what he meant, and closed the distance between them with only a second’s hesitation. It was amazing, pressing his whole front to Michael’s back, tucking his knees behind Michael’s knees, burying his nose in Michael’s curls for a glorious moment and breathing in. Michael was so much warmer it was almost obscene, and Alex couldn’t help pulling him back against his chest, ducking his head to press his cold nose against the line of Michael’s shoulders.

Michael pulled Alex’s arm more comfortably around him, and Alex spread his fingers wide over Michael’s heart, closing his eyes when Michael pressed his own hand over it, holding him in place. Alex was half-hard, but there was no urgency, for once. And the warmth was so good, and he could smell Michael all around him. 

It reminded him of the tool shed, before everything had gone to shit. Of the two of them moving together on top of the pallet bed in there, on top of Michael’s sleeping bag and his lumpy pillow. Alex remembered wanting to fix every moment in his mind forever, trying to press details into his memory. A lot of it had faded, but he remembered wanting to remember how good Michael smelled, and how good it was to be allowed to touch someone else without fear. How safe it had felt, before the world outside had broken in and wrecked everything.

They were safe now. Hidden away in a storm, curled together with as much contact between them as physically possible. Alex could feel his toes again, and he closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he told himself, and fell slowly into sleep.

Alex woke in a warm cocoon, curled up like a child on his side. He knew the Airstream around him, but he was alone in the narrow bed, and he twisted his head, pushing himself up and blinking. It was dark outside, the trailer still battered by strong winds, and the lamp at the other end of the trailer was on. Michael was on the stool, hunched over the table and writing. He must have heard Alex move, or felt him looking, because he looked round and straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Alex felt like they were in a whole other world, where he could fall asleep with Michael without even having sex first. Dangerously domestic, something he’d never done with anyone before. But Michael always brought firsts for him – he shouldn’t still be surprised by it. He swallowed around a dry throat and lay down again, shifting so he could still see Michael. He didn’t want to leave the warm blankets. “What’re you doing?”

Michael looked at him for a long moment before smiling wryly. “Won’t make much sense unless you know about the heat of black holes.”

It should have stung, but Alex couldn’t stop himself smiling back. It faded as his next thought occurred to him. “Do you spend all your free time working on it?”

“Pretty much.” Michael looked back down at whatever he’d been writing. “What time I don’t spend drinking and fighting, I mean.” He glanced over at Alex again. “You hungry?”

“What time is it?”

“Uh…” Michael checked his phone. “Almost seven.”

Alex blinked. “Shit.” It had been late morning when the snow had blown in. His sleep schedule was going to be fucked.

Michael shrugged. “You seemed like you needed the sleep.”

“I guess,” Alex said quietly.

“Time to process?” Michael said, only a little barbed. He shook his head before Alex could find an answer and got to his feet. “I’ve got soup and stuff. I don’t think anyone’ll be delivering food in this.”

“How bad is it?” Alex asked, forcing himself to sit up at last. He dragged the quilt and blanket around his shoulders, trying to keep the warmth against his skin. 

“I turned off the heater for a bit, and the snow was pretty deep when I turned it back on.” Michael had tidied while Alex had slept, he realised, and that unsettled him more than anything else had so far. He wasn’t normally a deep sleeper, and the only times he’d slept through movement close to him were when he was at the brink of exhaustion and when he was sedated, neither of which had been the case today. He leaned back against the separator wall and watched as Michael got a couple of cans of soup down from the overhead locker and got a can opener out from a drawer near his leg.

“You okay with me staying the night?” Alex asked, wanting to be sure.

Michael laughed. “Even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t kick you out in this. I wouldn’t even kick Valenti out in this.”

Alex shook his head. “Why do you hate him so much?”

Michael gave him an incredulous look. “Seriously? Are you experiencing some sorta memory loss about the crap he put you through in school?”

It was ridiculous that Alex had to bite back a smile, surprise and amusement making him want to do stupid things, like get up and kiss Michael senseless, or reach out and tug him back into bed. It was so rare that anyone had ever wanted to protect him, even from things he didn’t need protecting from. “It was a long time ago,” he said after a moment. “And he’s apologised. We were best friends before all that, you know.”

“He was a dick to you, and he hit you,” Michael said, and flinched at the sound of his own hard voice, turning away to get a pan out.

“I hit him back,” Alex reminded him mildly. 

“You weren’t the one in the wrong,” Michael muttered, opening the cans with vicious movements and pouring the soup into the pan.

“It was ten years ago,” Alex said, smiling. “You don’t need to be hung up over it.”

“I’m not the one who was talking about protection earlier,” Michael pointed out, and Alex’s smile died.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“There’s a big difference between Kyle Valenti, even when he was being a dick in high school, and a government organisation whose purpose is to hunt down aliens, run by my dad, who smashed your hand in with a hammer.”

“At least I never had to live with the guy,” Michael shot back. “Look, I’m just saying that it’s not insane that I want you safe too, okay?” He put the pan on the stove, and Alex just stared at him in silence. He genuinely didn’t understand how Michael could keep flooring him with statements like that. Every time he thought he’d found his feet and built up a decent barrier between them, Michael breezed through it like it was nothing.

“But you’re trying to leave,” Alex said slowly, testing.

Michael frowned at him. “Is that what you’re all in knots about?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I didn’t think you’d care,” Michael said flatly, and Alex shook his head, disbelief warring with anger.

“Seriously?”

“You’re always leaving me,” Michael snapped, and fuck, that hit home. “You think it’s fun, waiting around for you to look twice at me and decide tonight’s the night you wanna scrape the barrel?”

“Is that what you think I do?”

“No.” Michael sighed and stepped backwards to sit on his stool again. “No. Just feels like it, a lot of the time. But you always come back, so I guess there’s that. I didn’t think you would, after yesterday. And you never actually said how staying away was supposed to protect me. You don’t think any of us are murderers, but we’re still suspects? What’s the deal there?”

Alex could recognise the misdirection for what it was, but he let Michael do it. He pulled his good leg up against his chest and sighed. “There has to be another alien.” Michael shook his head and Alex shrugged. “Why not?”

“We’d know,” Michael said in a low voice. “If there was another alien in Roswell…there’s no way. And why wouldn’t they find us? Why wouldn’t we have found them?”

“You’re connected to Michael and Isobel because they’re your siblings,” Alex said. “You might have no connection to this fourth alien because they’re not related to you. And if there isn’t a fourth alien, what’s the explanation for the handprints on the bodies? Unless you want to point the finger at either of your siblings.”

Michael scowled. “How do you know it wasn’t me?”

“Oh my God.” Alex tipped his head back in exasperation. “I don’t think it was _any_ of you, that’s the point. And if it was going to be any of you, surely it would be Isobel? The one with a history of murdering people during mental episodes?”

“It wasn’t Isobel,” Michael snapped, angrier than Alex had ever seen him. “I’m serious, look elsewhere.”

It must be nice, Alex reflected distantly, to have siblings who actually cared about you. “Why do you think I’m looking for a fourth alien?” he asked. “They might be just as unaware of you as you are of them. You guys have hidden yourselves pretty well.”

“You’re actively looking for someone else then?”

“Cam and Max are. Murder investigations do traditionally tend to be led by police officers, after all.”

“Max knows?” 

“If Jenna got to him before the storm hit. We only found out yesterday, Guerin, we’re not holding any information back now.”

Michael sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the heel of his damaged hand across his eyes. “This is all so messed up.”

Alex shifted to lean into the corner of the bed so he could rest his head against the wall. Curling up small wasn’t exactly the image he wanted to project, but the air outside the blankets was too cold for him to want to stretch out. He didn’t understand how Michael wasn’t even wearing a sweater, just the same white shirt from before.

He should check his phone. There were probably messages from Kyle and Jenna, and weather reports about the storm he could check. But his phone was still in his jacket pocket, hung up in the bathtub out of reach, and he didn’t really want to check it anyway. He wanted to keep up the illusion of isolation for a while. 

Michael was massaging the palm of his left hand absently, looking down at the books and papers on his table, and Alex asked before he could think it through, “Would you have ever told me?”

Michael looked at him, confusion blinking into comprehension in the space of a second, his eyes flicking up and down Alex’s body. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I’ve never told anyone before. Y’know, Max has told Liz, and Isobel was gonna tell Noah, before he figured it out on his own.”

“Did you ever want to?”

Michael looked down at his hands, his right still cradling his left. “Yeah. Never thought I’d be able to though.”

“You thought you’d just keep it secret forever? Like Isobel and Noah?”

Michael laughed and looked away before meeting Alex’s eyes. “I never thought we’d get anywhere near that level,” he said simply, and Alex’s heart ached. “Did you?”

“I tried not to,” he said, looking down at the pattern of the quilt. “Think about it, I mean.”

“Why?”

“Why torture yourself with impossibilities?” Alex took a deep breath, unable to look at Michael. “After…after the tool shed, I thought that was it. And after I left for basic,” he forced himself on, “I never thought I would see you again. It was easier to pretend,” he said, stealing a glance at Michael, impassive on his stool. “Like it had never happened.”

“Like you wanted to leave?” Michael asked in a low voice, and Alex shook his head, looking down at the quilt and its garish pattern again. 

“I did want to leave,” he said quietly. “I wanted…I had to get out, and I wanted to…”

“I woulda taken care of you,” Michael said roughly, and Alex shook his head again, hating how much those words hurt.

“He would’ve killed you.”

“He said that?”

“He didn’t have to.” Alex closed his eyes for a second, swallowing down the start of a lump in his throat. “He broke your _hand_, Michael. With a hammer. And nothing happened.” He made himself look at Michael, trying to get his point across and hating how thin his voice had gone. “Everyone knew my dad was friends with the sheriff and you didn’t have any parents. You didn’t even have anywhere to live. He could’ve done anything to you, and no one would’ve done anything to him.”

Michael was silent, and Alex knew they were both thinking about it now, about what might have happened if Alex hadn’t immediately put as much distance between them as possible. Jesse Manes had taken a hammer to the hand of a teenager, maiming him for life, and there had been absolutely no consequences. Just like there had never been any consequences for the way he’d treated Alex, and no consequences for the way he’d blackmailed Kyle and Jenna. Not until Alex had stepped in and blackmailed him right back.

“I wanted to go,” he said again, even quieter. “I didn’t want to be the sort of person who let the people I cared about get hurt by him anymore.”

“You didn’t _let_ him hurt me,” Michael protested, serious and earnest, and Alex lifted his head to meet his eyes at last.

“But I couldn’t stop him,” he said. He let out a long breath and looked at Michael’s left hand. “I wanted to be different, to be the kind of person who _won_ battles for once. I didn’t wanna be scared any more, and I wanted to know how to fight back. I can now, and it’s good, but…I don’t know. I, sometimes…I’m a lot more like him than I want to admit, y’know?”

“Hey,” Michael said quickly, “no, you’re _nothing_ like him, Alex.”

“You don’t think so?” Alex looked at him frankly. “We’re both ruthless when it comes to getting what we want. We’re not above manipulation. We play the field and misdirect when it suits us. I look in the mirror sometimes and I don’t even see myself. I went to war to change who I was, and I did such a good job that I don’t even know who I am anymore.” He laughed, an empty, humourless sound. 

“You’re nothing like him,” Michael insisted, scowling. “Okay? You’re a good person.”

“I really don’t know where you’re getting that idea,” Alex said quietly.

Michael pushed a hand through his hair, all motion, flexing and shifting with repressed energy. “You know you were the only person who was ever nice to me without asking for anything in return?” he said suddenly. “Apart from Max and Isobel. You saw exactly what I needed and you offered it to me. No one’s ever done that for me before. And you went further than that.” He gestured to Alex with his good hand. “You gave me a place to stay and then you gave me your brother’s guitar. And you…” His chest heaved with a huge sigh and he gestured again. “You’re the only person on this entire planet who’s ever made me feel like there could be a place for me here. A home.”

The lump in Alex’s throat was too big to be swallowed down now, but he tried anyway. So his voice was a little choked when he spoke, though he tried his best to sound calm. “I really screwed that up, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t screw anything up,” Michael said firmly. “And I already told you, I’d do it all again. It sucks when you leave, but as long as you come back, I can live with it. I will. And if you’re serious about not walking away anymore…” He shrugged, the barest movement of his shoulder, painful hope in his eyes that his expression was trying to keep under wraps.

“I am.” Alex swallowed again and took a quick breath. “I don’t look away either, Guerin.”

Michael shifted forward in what looked almost like startlement, then stood up and crossed the distance between them all at once, one knee falling onto the bed, bracing one hand on the divider wall. Alex leaned up as he leaned down, letting the quilt and blanket slip from his shoulder as he reached up to cup Michael’s cheek as they kissed. Michael moved closer, both knees on the bed, and cradled Alex’s face the way he always did, thumbs against his temples, fingers in his hair, palms hot from below Alex’s ears all the way down his neck.

Alex pulled him closer, spreading his legs to make room and getting one arm around Michael’s back, his other hand sliding into his hair. Michael sat back on his thighs and dragged Alex into his lap, and Alex couldn’t stop a breathless laugh slipping out into the space between them as the angle changed, Michael leaning back and holding Alex up so he had the height advantage. “I’ve got you,” Michael muttered, and Alex’s next exhalation came out shaky.

“Yeah.” Michael tilted his head in a wordless question, and Alex ran his hands down his back, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes for a moment before murmuring, “You’re the only person who makes me feel safe like this.”

Michael’s hands slid back up to his face again, and Alex relaxed in increments, settling his full weight on Michael’s thighs and just letting himself be held. It wasn’t easy, persuading himself to stay still and trust Michael not to get impatient or uncomfortable, but Michael’s fingers stroked through the short hair at the back of his neck so gently, and he didn’t say a word. It was hypnotising, in a way. 

An odd, liquid sound disturbed the quiet, and Alex frowned as Michael turned away. “Damn. Soup,” he explained with a rueful smile when Alex looked at him. “Needs stirring.”

“Right.” Alex had completely forgotten, and he moved backwards to let Michael get up, annoyed at himself. Michael kept one hand on the side of his neck for a second longer than necessary before twisting away.

“You warmer now?” he asked, grabbing a spoon from a drawer as he stood up and giving the pan on the stovetop a quick stir.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“Any time.” Michael gave him a speculative look. “What’re you gonna do when the storm lets up?”

Alex shrugged, crossing his legs. It hadn’t felt weird for a while, only having one foot to tuck under the opposite knee, but he was freshly aware of it sitting in Michael’s bed. A particularly hard gust of wind made the Airstream creak, rocking in place just a fraction, and Alex didn’t miss the way Michael checked for his reaction. “Help Jenna with her investigation if I can,” he said, choosing to ignore it. “Keep going through the Project Shepherd files.”

“You haven’t looked at them all yet?”

“I still have to be on base most of the week,” Alex reminded him. “There were a lot of files, and a lot of it is on paper, so I have to actually go to the bunker to read them.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah.” The Airstream creaked again, and Alex raised his eyebrows when Michael checked him again. “What?”

“You don’t mind it?”

“Do you?”

“I’m used to it.”

Alex gave him an amused look. “Any wall that isn’t made of canvas is good as far as I’m concerned. And I told you, I like your trailer.”

“You’re the only person who does,” Michael said dryly, getting a couple of mismatched bowls out and pouring soup into each one.

“It’s you.” Alex took the bowl Michael handed him, careful not to spill it as he brought it to rest on his good knee. Michael put his own bowl on the divider wall that separated the kitchen unit from the bed and sat down with his back against it before handing him a spoon and picking his bowl up again.

“Me?”

“Yeah. Like, you can tell you live here.”

“Is that a good thing?” Michael joked, holding his bowl in one hand and starting to eat quickly.

“Well I like you, so, yeah.” Alex stirred his own soup absently, watching the steam rising from it. 

“Can’t fault your taste, at least,” Michael snorted. When Alex only looked at him, he raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Alex didn’t know how to articulate his own muddled thoughts, so reached for a simpler question. “What’re you gonna do?” he asked. “When the storm’s over?”

“I don’t know.” Michael looked down at his bowl. “Whatever needs doing. I’m not really a big planner.”

“Do you want to read through the Project Shepherd files?”

Michael looked at him quickly. “You’d let me?”

“They’re about your people.” Alex shrugged and finally ate a mouthful of soup. Too salty and sweet at the same time, it reminded him of MREs. “You can help us figure out who the fourth alien is. And somewhere in there, we could maybe get a drink together.” He sneaked a sideways look to see Michael start to smile.

“That sounds good.”

“Good,” Alex echoed. Their spoons clinked against their bowls as they ate, and a few mouthfuls later Alex worked up the nerve to say, “I’ve never had a boyfriend before. You’ll have to tell me if I do something wrong, okay?”

“I don’t know where you’re getting the idea that I’m some sorta expert,” Michael snorted. “It’s not like I’ve ever had a boyfriend either. Or a girlfriend,” he added, and laughed quietly when Alex raised his eyebrows. “Hook-ups and flings don’t count, y’know? It’s not like anyone wants more than a night or two with this.” He gestured half-heartedly to their surroundings and himself, and Alex rolled his eyes, reaching out to kick him gently with his stump.

“So we’re both amateurs,” he said. “Fine.” In a way, that was a relief. “We can screw up together.”

Michael smiled, small and maybe the tiniest bit hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” After all, what was the point of sending his dad away and trying to keep Michael safe if they couldn’t take advantage of it? “Starting as soon as the storm lifts.”

“I don’t know.” Michael’s smile became a smirk. “I was kinda hoping we could screw around a bit in the meantime too.”

Alex was startled into laughter, and kicked Michael again gently, loving how unphased he was by the touch of the stump. “Let’s maybe finish eating first.” Michael saluted and got to it, and Alex followed suit, eating slower and trying not to let the hopeful feeling ballooning in his chest get too out of control.

But maybe they _could_ do this. Maybe this could be part of their future – sharing a bed and eating together and laughing. Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d made Michael laugh. He stretched his leg out and pressed the base of his stump against Michael’s thigh again, just because he could. Michael let go of his bowl, keeping it floating in mid-air with his mind as he lowered his hand to cover Alex’s knee instead.

“I haven’t said this yet,” Alex said, managing to keep his voice impressively steady. “And like, don’t let it go to your head, but your alien powers are really cool.”

Michael grinned at him. “They’re pretty awesome sometimes.”

“You’re like Jean Grey.”

“Well hopefully I won’t go supernova and take away everyone else’s powers.”

Alex hesitated. He was sure from the sparkle in Michael’s eyes that he knew what he’d just said, but Alex couldn’t let it go. “That was Scarlet Witch, not Jean Grey.”

Michael laughed, head tipped back and hand squeezing Alex’s knee. “You fucking nerd.”

“Hey, if you baited me on purpose there, you’re no less of a nerd than I am,” Alex protested, completely failing to keep a lid on his own grin.

“I kinda wondered if you’d boxed all that shit away,” Michael said, smiling crookedly. “You do a good impression of a hardass airman, y’know?”

Alex looked down at his soup, which was going cold. “It’s not an impression.”

Michael squeezed his knee again. “It’s not everything you are though.”

Alex nodded. “Just like you’re not completely a macho cowboy?”

“Exactly.” Michael turned to put his bowl on the kitchen counter, and took Alex’s bowl too when he handed it over. 

“Come here?” Alex asked, and Michael came. They lay down again, pulling the sheet and blanket and quilt over both of them, and Alex hooked his residual limb over Michael’s thigh and held him close. They didn’t speak. Michael played gently with Alex’s hair, and Alex drew meaningless patterns on Michael’s back, and they shared the occasional kiss as the storm blew on outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Meagn for those absolutely devastating tags on [this gifset](https://myrmidryad.tumblr.com/post/186840168700/chasingshhadows-bisexualalienblast-michael) about Michael knowing to stay put when lost, because that was good and painful!
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](https://myrmidryad.tumblr.com/)


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